Angerona
by Alcyone23
Summary: Eight letters in her human name. Eight distinct memories. OC. Read AB Type before.
1. Adornment

Angerona sat demurely next to her husband. Women were no longer allowed to sit at the same table as the men, but her husband liked showing her off. Not half as beautiful as the prize he had lost, though she was indeed lovely and, in her submissiveness, representative of the kingdom he had managed to conquer. She was his prized jewel, covered in more jewels.

Bracelets of braided gold adorned her pale hands. A diamond ring circled her right index finger; on her left middle finger, a large ruby—its color reminiscent of blood—reflected the light. Inhaling deeply, she strained against the weight of her necklace. It was so massive it could have been confused for a breastplate. Two sheets of hammered gold, linked together and studded with an intricately symmetric design of tiny rubies.

She scoffed inwardly. No matter the size, a piece of metal could not make her forget the pain that had exploded within her after he'd struck her. She had fallen against the bed's edge, cracking her skull against its sharp point, before he grabbed her and locked her inside a small storeroom. Even hidden by her hair, the indentation left by the blow was still palpable. Angerona raised a hand to the side of her head and carefully felt the small hole underneath the still-tender skin.

No, she could not forget at all.


	2. Nothing

Night? Day? Angerona had lost track. She did not know how long she had been kept as prisoner. In fact, she no longer cared.

This fact terrified her more than anything else did. It meant they were succeeding.

Angerona curled into a tight ball at the far end of the cell. She shivered violently. There was no acclimating to the damp cold that suffused the cavern. Being stripped of all clothing did not help. Although, Angerona laughed bitterly, the clothing was the least. Stripped of clothing, stripped of proper food, stripped of clean water, stripped of freedom, stripped of family…

No, not all her family. Her brothers were dead, yes. Her mother, Pasiphae, and one of her sisters, Phaedra, had escaped. Klytië, her sweetest sister, was killed protecting her. Her father, dear papa, was dead.

But Ariadne was alive and in the cavern with her. Ariadne, the oldest child. Ariadne, the beautiful one. Ariadne, the perfect one. Ariadne, who had fallen in love with a Mycenaean king. Ariadne, who opened the gate for the Mycenaeans, infiltrating the palace of Knossos. Ariadne, most beloved princess, who had wrought the destruction of a kingdom blinded by love.

"You are so stupid," she whispered to her sister's broken form.

Ariadne did not raise her head, did not move. Despite the multiple welts and lacerations, despite her painful thinness, despite the size of her massive stomach from one of the multiple times she had been raped, she retained a measure of her past beauty. A wilting flower, instead of a blooming rose.

"So stupid," Angerona finished.

Ariadne slowly raised her head from where it had been resting on her arms. She had led her lover to her father's chambers. Her lover was to imprison the Minotaur. He was not to kill the king, or so Ariadne had said. When her lover killed her father, when the Mycenaean troops burned the ships, when the soldiers slaughtered the princes simply for being male heirs to the throne, then Ariadne finally saw what her lover's plan had been all along. In an Oedipal moment of guilt and despair, she tore a ring from her finger—one with a large ruby that reflected the light—and gashed out her eyes, preferring to remain blind.

As Angerona beheld her sister's empty sockets, she no longer felt disgust or pleasure. Instead, she felt nothing at all.


	3. Grapes

Angerona did not remember Klytië's bull jump, but she remembered the present her father had given to her sweet sister.

It was a bright day when the Phoenician ships pulled into the port of Knossos. Angerona and Klytië ran laughing through the crowds while Ariadne walked behind them. The Phoenicians were excellent merchants and good navigators, almost as good as their own men. Whenever they came into port, they brought with them new trinkets and fabulous objects from places farther away than imaginable: golden jewelry from Egypt, rich spices and perfumes from India, even unbelievable weapons from Assyria.

That day they brought with them something more precious and rare. One of the Phoenicians observed the bull's head amulet the sisters wore and recognized it as the royal symbol.

"Princesses?" he asked. He spoke with a strong accent, but Klytië and Angerona understood.

"Yes," Klytië responded.

He smiled. "Your father requested a special shipment for one who completed a bull jump."

"That would be me." Klytië's eyes shone in surprise and excitement. Their father had told her to go visit the Phoenicians, but had not explained why. As they watched, the Phoenician called to the others on the boat in their language and one brought down an unmarked, plain crate. They popped open the top and out of the crate spilled an extraordinary cloth. It was the same shade of the grapes she had enjoyed that morning, like a blue, but darker and richer. Angerona's eyes, well-trained for colors, could see some semblances of red in the color too as if the blue and red had mixed…

"We call it 'purple'." The Phoenician grinned at Klytië's and Angerona's reactions. "Pretty, isn't it? It is yours. Ordered specially." He handed her the bolt and Klytië held it reverentially, staring fascinated at the color.

"Ariadne!" Klytië called, running to where their sister was.

"Is there more cloth?" Angerona asked the Phoenician. His smile faded.

"I am sorry, my dear. Your father ordered one for your sister. Perhaps when you complete your bull jump."

Angerona hid her disappointment behind a carefully crafted mask. She was about to turn away when she saw the glance the Phoenician sent in Ariadne's direction. Her oldest sister, always the fairest, had bloomed into the beauty of Knossos. Her long dark curls were gathered away from her face with strings of beads. A blue rich enough to rival the sky's color trimmed the wide V of her yellow robes, revealing her tanned chest. A fitted blue bodice, trimmed with gold, narrowed her waist, emphasizing her rounded hips and pushing up her breasts. Her flounced yellow skirt completed the image of a woman at the prime age for marriage. Angerona hid a smirk as the man continued staring at her sister's breasts. One would think the women of his land never revealed their chests!

"That's so sad," Angerona continued. The Phoenician turned to her again. "I had been hoping to have it made into a bodice for my sister. She would so love having something purple." She motioned to where Ariadne and Klytië were haggling a price for a fine golden necklace with one of the city's finest jewelry-makers. Angerona allowed her eyes to drop to the floor and turned away to join her sisters.

"I think there is one more bolt of purple cloth," The Phoenician spoke behind her. Angerona turned around. "For such a well-meant young lady, I'll give it to you for a special price. I should like to meet your sister. Privately."

Angerona smiled graciously. "Of course. Come to the palace garden tomorrow night at midnight and my sister shall be there."

The Phoenician grinned and called to one of the men still in the boat in his language. Soon, a small bolt of fine purple cloth passed into Angerona's hands.

The following night, Angerona watched as the sailor attempted to navigate the labyrinthine hallways of the palace. Making others do as she wished was easy once she knew what they wanted. Stumping their desires was simply a bonus. The sailor would never find his way to the garden just as he would never meet Ariadne, sleeping in her chambers and ignorant of yet another lovesick fool.

Hours later, he gave up, but had become utterly lost. Taking pity on him, Angerona alerted the guard to the intrusion and they escorted him out of the palace. The next day, the Phoenician boat sailed away. Angerona watched them until they were but a point on the horizon. Then, she carefully raised the hem of her purple flounced skirt with its intricate design of golden grapes so that it would not track through the mud and turned back to the palace.


	4. Empty

Angerona's lungs burned. She thrashed wildly, but the hand holding her head underwater remained firm. When she felt she would not last another second, the hand wrenched her head out of the water. She sputtered, tried to breathe, inhaled droplets of water, choked again and again as the hand again plunged her head into the tub.

When she was finally free of the water, the Mycenaean reached out to stroke her dark hair. Revulsion rose like bile in the back of her throat. If her stomach had not been empty, she would have vomited over his pristine robes. She instead focused on getting air into her gasping lungs.

"It pains me to see you suffer like this. Why don't you marry me and end this? You were but a princess before. I will make you a queen. One word can save you. What do you say?"

Gulping down air helped nothing. She could not get enough and it brought forth fresh waves of pain. She had to remain calm—focus her breathing.

"Angerona, I promise you a kingdom! You will never want for anything. Come, my dear, one word."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"Angerona? Answer me!" He seized her by her hair.

There was a time when she would curse him, insult him, spit at him, try to hurt him. However, while he had not yet succeeded in destroying her will, he had successfully emptied her of all emotion. Only her body made itself heard. And it wanted only air—Angerona would not waste it on pointless words.

The Mycenaean, furious, grabbed her head and shoved it under the water.

At least she had managed to fill the void inside with a little air.


	5. Rites

A young girl ran cheerfully after her sisters. Angerona was five years old and the youngest heir to the throne. However, that day was not about her. It was about her oldest sister, Ariadne. They had all trained for years and, in a moment's time, all of Knossos would know if Ariadne had been a diligent or poor student. The bull jumps did not forgive the lazy, the untrained or the weak.

The tall stadium rose majestically before them. As she ran, Angerona prayed to Erpeto to protect her sister. Klytië, the second oldest, drew a charm from the bag around her waist and handed it to Ariadne.

"The priestess blessed it." Klytië allowed the charm to catch the sun's light. It was a small stone, carefully carved into the shape of a coiled serpent, the symbol of the Goddess. The sunlight passing through it tossed tiny rainbows into the air around it. Ariadne held out her hand and Klytië dropped the amulet into her palm. She did not speak, but Angerona could see the gratitude in Ariadne's eyes.

When they reached the stadium, Klytië and Angerona were separated from their sister. Ariadne took her place among the other participants, mainly male. Klytië took Angerona's hand and carefully led her to the raised seats reserved for the king and his family. Their other siblings were already assembled. Their father sat calmly in the center, his icy blue eyes—a trait all of his daughters inherited—set on the arena before them. When his daughters finally sat beside him, he spoke to them without averting his eyes from the door through which Ariadne would soon enter.

"Watch carefully," he ordered. "You will do this too."

"Papa," Klytië began, her tone as deferential as was necessary when speaking to one's parents, "why do we? The bull jumps are for males to prove they have reached adulthood. Women do not need to perform it as we are informed when we are capable of having children."

Their father smiled. He rested his hand on Klytië's black hair. "Observant child," he complimented. "You will see why when your sister successfully completes the jump."

Angerona and her sisters had been trained by the priestesses from a very young age to jump the bulls. However, they had always been the only girls. The boys needed to complete it in order to prove they had the blessing of the gods and had reached adulthood. As adults, they could aspire to higher positions, could wed and could continue the glory of their land. The ones who could not complete the jump did not reach adulthood and the kindly gods ensured they did not need to bear the misery of their failure. If the bull did not perform the god's commands fully, the priests would finish carrying out the gods' orders.

Angerona held onto Klytië's hand like a lifeline. Her father noticed and reached around Klytië to lay his large hand over Angerona's small hand.

"Do not worry, my dear one," he said comfortingly, " your sister is much stronger than any of these boys. She will perform the jump as easily as I did when I was her age."

Angerona smiled. Her father was the king, blessed by the gods. He was a kind and wise ruler to his people, much beloved, and respected and feared outside their island as the famous Minotaur for the giant bull's head he wore in battle. It was said to have struck fear so violently into the hearts of some of his enemies that they fell dead at the sight of it. If he did not fear, then she had no reason to either.

Much too slowly for Angerona, the high priest finally walked into the arena to announce the commencement of the ceremony. The cheers that greeted his words were deafening. The entire city seemed to turn out to see the jumps. That day the stands were especially packed since one of the princesses was participating.

Angerona inhaled deeply, attempting to quell the flutters in her stomach. She tried to imagine what Ariadne was feeling, but it was hard to imagine her proud and strong sister feeling something so shameful as fear.

The participants walked onto the field among screams and cheers. There were twenty-three among them and Angerona knew every one, having practiced with them. Ariadne was the last one. She looked pale, but she stood ramrod-straight, her eyes focused on the gate through which the bull would be released.

Too soon for Angerona, the bull finally appeared. It was a huge one, fierce and untamable. Even from her seat, Angerona could see the whites of its eyes. Its horns were the longest she had seen, two deadly points crowning its massive head. Two men prodded it with long staves towards the group opposite them, infuriating the bull. Head lowered, it dove at the man on the right. Only his quick reflexes saved him from being the first gored by the bull's long horns.

Finally, the bull turned its eyes onto the young men standing at the opposite side of the field and raced towards them. The boys jumped out of the way, waiting for when the bull turned to initiate the jumps, when it would be confused and less dangerous.

Ariadne did not move out of the way. Her pale blue eyes—a sailor had compared them once to ice, something Angerona had never seen—narrowed in concentration and, as the bull was about to arch its head up to gore her through, Ariadne's hands flashed out to grasp his horns. She used his own force and speed against him to jump his head safely. Her hands closed momentarily on the fur on his back, standing for the briefest second on her hands before she completed the jump, twisting her body so that when she landed, she faced the retreating form of the bull. Then, she slowly straightened, paler than before but with a proud smile so wide Angerona thought she might split her face in two.

The stands were shocked to silence for a brief moment before they exploded into cheers. The princess had completed the jump. She was truly blessed by the gods. The Minotaur and his family were the god's chosen rulers. With them leading, their people would never fall.


	6. Omega

Angerona could not sleep. Something lurked at the edge of her senses, something unnerving. Unable to stand it much longer, she sat up, glancing around her as if expecting to see something monstrous detach itself from the shadows.

Phaedra grunted at Angerona's sudden movements, one bleary blue eye opening hazily.

"What are you doing?" she asked, annoyed.

"I can't sleep. I keep thinking something bad is going to happen," Angerona whispered.

Phaedra snorted. "You're being stupid. Go back to sleep." Without another word, Phaedra turned around, her back to Angerona. A soft snore soon filtered through the air.

Angerona could not reconcile sleep so easily. Finally, she desisted from trying. Her mother was still awake; Klytië was recovering from a fever, so she, her mother and Ariadne would be in their room. Angerona could seek reassurance there. She carefully climbed off the bed, not able to mask the sudden shivers that assaulted her as her naked feet landed on the cold floor. She quietly tiptoed across the room and slowly opened the door. She peeked into the shadowed hall, ensuring that it was deserted. Then, she slipped through the opening and carefully shut the door again.

A scuffling sound behind her made her jump. Angerona turned around quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. The sound had come from her parent's bedroom at the end of the hall. Again, the scuffling sound reached Angerona's ears.

_What's happening?_

Angerona swallowed with difficulty; her throat had suddenly turned dry. She slowly stepped in the direction of her parent's room. She could feel throbbing of her pulse, drums beating at her wrists and temples. The fine hairs on her arms and back of her neck stood on end. Although only a few seconds passed, the trip to her father's door seemed eternal. Once there, she pressed her ear to the wood, straining to hear. Two voices surprised her: Ariadne and a man.

"—should I do?" Ariadne was asking.

"Keep watch on the door. We can't have Pasiphae walking in on us," the man responded.

_They can't have my mother walking in on what?_ Before Angerona could think of something, the door opened.

"Angerona!" Ariadne exclaimed, wide-eyed and sheepish. "What are you doing here? Go back to sleep."

"Who was that you were talking to?" Angerona tried to look around her sister, but Ariadne closed the door.

"I was talking to father, of course," Ariadne lied. Angerona glared at her.

"That wasn't father's voice. Who is in there?"

"No one, Angerona! Now, please, go back to sleep. It is late." Ariadne pushed her sister away. Angerona's fist flashed into Ariadne's stomach. Ariadne gasped and Angerona seized the moment to run around her sister and open the door.

The first thing she saw was the horn. It was the famous horn of the famous bull her famous father had killed. She recognized the gold sheath that surrounded both horns of her father's bull's head. It was odd, though, that it was the horn alone. It was no longer connected to the head.

The second thing she saw was a man wielding the horn above her father's sleeping form, holding the deadly sharpened point over her father's heart.

"Papa!" Angerona screamed.

The king of Knossos, loved and feared as the Minotaur, awoke at the sound of his daughter's scream—one second too late.

Angerona saw the golden horn descend unerringly, cleaving through bone and muscle to the heart beneath. Her father thrashed violently, confused, pained, angered…and relaxed. His movements grew limp, his eyes dark.

Angerona watched a dark stain bloom from the place the golden horn had stabbed into her father's chest. A sudden cold invaded her. Angerona began to scream and scream and scream and scream.

The man looked up from the Minotaur's corpse and glared at Angerona.

"What is she doing here?" he thundered.

"What have you done?!" Ariadne had recovered and stared at her father's body in shock. "What the hell have you done?! You said you were going to capture him! Capture him! That was it!"

"Come now, Ariadne, you did not actually believe that? I could never reign over this island if the king was still alive. He needed to die, so _we_ could reign together." He held out his hand to Ariadne—and _smiled_.

Ariadne stepped backward. "No, _no_, NO!" she screamed. Ariadne gathered up a still-shrieking Angerona in her arms and ran from the room.

"Let go of me, Ariadne! Papa! _Papa!_" Angerona fought her sister wildly, striking her face, her chest, anything she could reach.

Ariadne dropped Angerona. Angerona landed on her wrist and she cried out at the lacerating pain. Looking up, she saw her sister staring at something before them. Angerona followed her gaze.

More men were in the hall—soldiers. One man held Klytië, a sword across her slender neck. Another pointed his blade at her mother and Phaedra. Pasiphae held Phaedra tightly, both whimpering in the corner. The others stood in a circle around her brothers, the three male heirs to the throne, as they lay still and quiet on the floor. They almost looked as if they were sleeping.

Angerona turned to look at Ariadne again, to beg her to explain, when a sight outside the window caught her eye. In the bustling port of Knossos, massive torches lit the night sky. No, not torches. The _ships_. Their ships, their means of survival, the symbol of their power. Every single one of them burned.

"I didn't see," Ariadne whispered. Angerona looked up at her sister's eyes, desperately searching them. "I didn't see. This-this is all _wrong_! This isn't how things are supposed to be!"

"Ariadne!" The Mycenaean calmly walked out of the king's bedroom. "Come, Ariadne. Stop being foolish and come with me."

"You lied to me." Ariadne's tone was disbelieving. "You _lied_ to me."

"Stop being ridiculous, Ariadne. Come along." He beckoned to her.

"You lied to me," she whimpered. "You lied and I-I didn't want to see. I don't _want_ to see!" she screamed.

"Grab her!" he yelled at the soldier closest to Ariadne. He reached for her. Before he could seize her, Ariadne tore a large ring from her left hand—a ruby, its color reminiscent of blood—and violently stabbed it into her eyes again and again and again until the soldier grabbed her and bound her arms behind her, so she could not hurt herself any more. Ariadne screamed, her sockets streaming with blood, lashing blindly around her. The one holding a sword to Pasiphae and Phaedra turned to help his companion and the women seized the chance to run.

"Don't let them escape!" the Mycenaean ordered. One of the men turned to chase after them, but Angerona barreled into his back, both of them crashing into the tiled floor below. Her wrist felt as if it snapped again, new burning daggers stabbing into the joint. The man swore loudly and shoved her away, pulling out his sword.

"Mama!" Angerona cried, trying to shield herself.

"Don't you touch her!" Klytië suddenly screamed.

What followed happened so quickly that Angerona did not see clearly what happened. Somehow, Klytië had fought off her captor and took his sword. She sank its blade into the back of the man attacking Angerona. She was not able to wrench the sword free fast enough.

Angerona watched as the points of three blades protruded from her sister's chest and stomach. Her breath came in short gasps; she could see the rush of blood, hear her heartbeat pound.

"Run, Angerona," Klytië gasped. A thin red stain slowly slipped from the corner of her lips. "Run now!"

"Klytië…" Angerona stared in numb shock before her sister's words finally made sense.

Angerona ran. She ducked under the arm of one man and avoided another. During the practices for the bull jumps, the priestesses had laughed that Angerona would have the easiest jump of her siblings, that there was no bull fast enough to catch her. She could run faster than any in her family; every race she participated in she always won. Her father had boasted his daughter could run faster than the wind.

Unfortunately, the arrow was faster still. Angerona felt something thud into her lower back. A sharp pain pierced her through, just under her right lung. She fell from the force of the blow. The soldiers caught up with her. Before she could run again, the hilt of a sword slammed into her head.

Angerona sank into a blessed nothingness.


	7. Nacre

Angerona did not know what they would to her when they pulled her out of her cell. Ariadne had not even moved when Angerona called her name. After her miscarriage, she was more of a corpse than anything living.

The two men holding her arms said nothing, which did not surprise her. They did not try to touch her, something that did surprise her. Her answer as to the change came when she saw the Mycenaean approach.

"Well, my dear? Have you changed your mind?" He smiled kindly at her. In response, Angerona spat at his feet. The slap was unsurprising, but his words were. "Take her down."

_Down? Down where?_

The two men tightened their holds on her arms until she began to lose sensation in them. They half-marched, half-dragged her deeper into the cavern. Angerona tried to look around her; she had never been brought this way. What could he be planning?

At the end of the cavern, Angerona saw a dark fissure on the ground. As they brought her closer, she saw it was a hole, large enough for a small adult male or an average sized female to crouch in. Before she could react, the hands holding her turned rough, violently shoving her into the hole. Her leg scraped on the rough wall of the hole as they pushed her down. Her head cracked against a protruding rock; she could feel the blood begin to drip down her face. She hugged her knees into her chest, keeping the open abrasions on her legs away from the walls. A dark shadow fell over her head. Angerona looked up to see a stone being rolled over the hole with only two small orifices remaining.

"No! Stop, no!" she screamed. It was the first time she spoke in a long time. The stone rolled into pace with an aching groan.

"No!" Angerona struck the rock above her, but it would not move.

She knew what they were trying to do, what_ he_ was trying to do. He was trying to break her.

She would not give him the satisfaction.

Even so, she could not bite back the whimper that clawed out of her throat.

Her first suspicion came some time after she was buried. She did not know how long she had been there; there was no way to measure time. However, she did know her body and when her menstrual period failed a long time after she expected it, she knew something was wrong. Nevertheless, she could not be certain until a long time after, when the rest of her had grown painfully thin yet her stomach continued to grow.

The baby growing inside her proved her lifeline. He saved her from the agonizing boredom, the terrifying darkness, the suffocating closeness. She sang nonsense to him and distracted herself. She drew circles on her stomach, trying to elicit movement from him, and tickled herself, making her smile. It felt odd to smile; it had been so long since she had had any reason to do so. In response, the baby rolled. She could feel him brush the walls of her stomach and could pinpoint the precise place where his head rested, just under her heart.

"I'm going to keep you safe, baby," she whispered. "I'm going to protect you. But you can't grow anymore. There's no space, baby, I'm sorry."

Angerona could almost feel a tiny hand pressed against her skin, as if promising.

He kept his promise; he didn't grow anymore. Instead, he demanded birth.

Angerona did not know how long she had carried him, but she knew it was too little. She also knew they had already fed her today, so they would not approach the hole, no matter how much she screamed, until the next feeding time. She was going to be utterly alone.

The first contraction was a slow tightening, which slowly, so _very_ slowly, built until Angerona was sure something was raking into her hips. As slowly as it came on, it faded. Angerona gasped for a long time, curled around herself, until she felt the second build again. She rested her head against the side, panting. Again, the clench. She gritted her teeth, forced herself to relax. By the next, she could no longer hold back her screams. Her hands grasped the walls of the hole. The biting pain in her palms made it easier to ignore the waves of pain originating from her lower abdomen. Her head fell forward against the dirt wall, a rock biting sharply into her back. Beads of sweat dotted her body. She felt sure her teeth would be worn down to nothing by the time this was finished, if she survived.

The next one came on so suddenly she threw her head back, striking it against the rock. She sobbed, overcome by the unimaginable pain. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. New cracks had formed during her screaming and Angerona tasted the copper of her blood. Another scream tore its way from her lungs, her entire body trembling from the force.

There, amidst screams, pain and blood, a tiny head slipped through the seal, the rest straining to follow. Angerona gently took her child's head in her hands and pulled. He was wet and slippery as a fish and so painfully small. She could see the fine map of his veins under his pale skin, his tiny hands curled into tight fists.

He did not cry.

A cold panic seized Angerona. Her lower lip trembled as her breath came in short gasps.

He opened his eyes.

Angerona froze as she looked into her son's icy blue eyes, a mirror image of her own. He blinked, his lashes so long and so dark, resting momentarily against the soft skin of his cheek. Angerona uncurled one small fist, observing the delicate nails crowning each finger. When she let go, he curled his fingers tightly again. She brushed her thumb against his pale, pink lips. He opened them in response, suckling at her finger. When he received nothing for his efforts, his mouth opened wider. A thin wail pierced the stifling air. He was small, but he was perfect.

With difficulty, she shifted him in her arms so she could lay him against her breast. His mouth closed around the nipple, but, as she had feared, she had no milk to give him. She had known, as she had watched her abdomen grow, that no conceivable change had occurred in her breasts. She had hoped, though, had hoped she was wrong. When he began to cry again, she knew she wasn't.

Desperate from the cries and still racked by pain, Angerona did not think twice. She held her wrist to her mouth and sank her teeth into the soft skin. She bit down hard until a copper taste invaded her mouth. Then, she held the wrist to her baby. At first, he turned his head away, but soon his lips closed around the wound.

"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered to him. "I'm sorry. But I have nothing else. Nothing else to give you. But don't worry. I'll save you soon. I promise. Even if it kills me."

Angerona held him tightly to her and softly lulled him asleep. She stroked his delicate face, running a finger down his small nose, carefully brushing his long, long eyelashes. She pressed her lips to the soft down of his dark hair, his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

Then, she ran the umbilical cord against a sharp rock and severed it close to his body.

By the time they realized she had given birth and rolled the stone off the hole, her blood and her baby's blood had dried on her body. The stench of decay impregnated the suffocating atmosphere. And the child she still held, the child she still kissed, the child she still sang to was a child of nacre, an adamantine child, pale and small and cold and beautiful.

He was safe.

Angerona did not react until they tried to take him from her. Four men had to forcibly restrain her and shove her back into the hole. The one who had first tried to take her son lay on the ground, bleeding from a blow to his head. Angerona's shrieks and curses reverberated in the cavern long after they took him and closed the hole again.

Where before he had helped keep her sane, now there was nothing to protect her mind. The walls of the hole threatened to close in on her. The darkness pressed against her mouth and lips and did not allow her to breathe. The silence mocked her.

The Mycenaean's plan worked. When the stone was rolled off her and she scrambled out, she collapsed at his feet, clutching his robes.

"No more, no more," she sobbed. "I'll do as you ask, just no more."

"You will marry me?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And convince your people I am the rightful king now?"

"Yes."

"And you will do as I say?"

"Yes. Just don't put me in there again. No more, I beg of you, no more, no more…"


	8. Anna

I was born during a cold winter night. Of my few memories, it's the haziest one. I do not remember the vampire that turned me, just that he was a man and he was familiar. I do not remember how I escaped the palace, though I must have killed many judging by the amount of blood on my clothes later, when I was conscious again. I don't even remember the turning itself.

I remember Ariadne. No, not my sister. My sister died sometime during those months I spent in that hole. I never learned what my husband did with her body and, frankly, I did not care either. No, the Ariadne I speak of was my daughter by my husband, a child that took after him so much I began to despise her. I loathed her as I had loved my son, a child who died nameless. I never learned what my husband did with him, something I deeply regret.

Ariadne, though… She was a despicable child. Spoiled, vain, constantly looking for any way to earn her father's praise by finding fault in others, especially me. It was she who told him when I tried to kill myself in the tub. The beating he gave me for that is one I have thankfully forgotten the details for. Except for the blow to my head, of course. She hated me almost as much as I did her.

And so it came as a surprise when, as I lay in the vampire's arms incapable of movement, feeling my life siphoned away with my blood, she screamed and tried to attack him with a torch.

Foolish girl. The blow against the wall cracked her head open. Dead immediately. But she saved me. She made him drop me. And her scream alerted the guard. The vampire was not able to complete the task before he was forced to leave.

I know the turning must have hurt, but I cannot remember it. I don't remember fleeing Knossos never to return, but I do remember one other thing about that night.

I awoke chained to a post in a cell underneath the palace. The metal chain groaned when I strained against it and snapped easily with a final jerk of my hand.

There was a scent in the air, one I recognized as my husband. A sharp hatred flooded my veins. A scorching fire razed my throat. I needed to find him. I followed the path of his scent. With one strike of my fist, the guard at the door crumpled to the ground, dead. I tore the door down as I entered.

"Angerona," he gasped. "You're alive."

I did not respond.

"Come to kill me have you?" he smirked. "Too bad you won't succeed. I own you. Or do you need me to shove you into a storeroom again to remind you? You don't like closed, dark spaces, do you Angerona? Is that where you want to be the rest of your miserable life? In a hole? You're so pathetic, Angerona. Just like your father, just like your worthless sister." He stepped closer, his hand raised to touch my cheek. "You can't do anything to me." His hand reeled back then to strike my face.

I would be lying if I said the crack of his bones wasn't utterly pleasing.

He cried out in pain and stepped backward, holding his injured hand. "Why you—" A dagger flashed into view. I caught the blade between my hands a short distance from my chest. We both stared in disbelief as I uncurled my fingers. They were unhurt, but the metal was twisted, blunted.

"What are you?" he gasped. I looked into his eyes and saw a reflection myself: paler than I had ever been before, my dark hair loose around my shoulders and my eyes an unholy red color instead of their usual blue. I did not look human.

I answered honestly, as one hand tightened around his neck and the other positioned itself on his chest, just over his heart. "A monster."


End file.
